


Draw Two (Pistols)

by violeteyes



Category: Saints Row
Genre: 30° F, Gen, Stage Magic, answering machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violeteyes/pseuds/violeteyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious message calls The Boss's three lieutenants to a run-down theatre in the projects. Her plans, however, may be thwarted by forces beyond just her occasional incompetence...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Two (Pistols)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FireEye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/gifts).



**THE HALCYON THEATRE.**

**STILWATER, USA.**

**WINTER.**

**THURSDAY.**

**JUST AFTER "THE DAILY SHOW."**

 

Breath came in clouds under city lights rimed in crystal ice as the low-slung purple coupe pulled up to the theater doors. The thudding, muffled bass of the stereo cut out just a moment before the door popped and Pierce Washington emerged into the icy night.

"'sup?" he asked, shaking a few snowflakes from his overcoat, hanging open over his tuxedo jacket. "Am I late?"

Gat and Shaundi, watching from the sidewalk, chorused a moderately-annoyed "yes" in reply.

Pierce pulled a long face. "Damn, no need to get all on my back about it."

Shaundi glared back at her fellow lieutenant, arms wrapped around her middle, which was in turn wrapped up in a jet-black empire-waisted gown. She adjusted her fur stole and glared. "In case you forgot, Pierce, Michigan is fucking cold. And you got the Boss's message like I did: 'dress nice.'"

Pierce glanced over at Johnny. "So what's your excuse?"

Johnny checked his jeans, t-shirt and motorcycle jacket. "What? They're clean. Not even any blood on 'em," he replied, either oblivious or uncaring for the evening's sartorial requirements. "So how much of a trap do you think this is?" Shaundi slipped a submachine gun out from behind her back. Pierce opened his overcoat to flash a sawn-off shotgun. Gat's favorite pair of handguns followed. "That's what I thought." He tipped his head to the side, giving his neck a crack and started planning---as much as Johnny Gat ever planned an evening of mayhem. "Alright. You go left, you go right, I'll fuck up the middle."

Thus arrayed, the trio were just about to kick down the front entrance of the old theater when the door opened, and a white-haired usher poked his head out. "Gentlemen, Miss Shaundi, a pleasure to have you at the Halcyon tonight," he called, adding, "There should be no need for such arms this evening, at least per our mutual employer's plans."

Shaundi and Pierce visibly relaxed, while Johnny re-holstered his guns with a barely-audible "Aw, darn."

The usher pulled the door open wide, admitting them into the dimly-lit lobby. The brass fittings were dingy and the carpet patchy, but the joint had clearly been prepared for...whatever it was the Boss was planning.

\---

None of the seats were occupied. That wasn't even the unnerving part, though. The five hundred empty seats faced a nearly-bare stage. There was a table. At the table sat a Figure.

It hunched. It loomed.

It...was wearing an old-timey diving helmet.

Climbing up onto the stage, Shaundi twigged to it first: "...okay, Boss, what's with the getup?"

The Boss's voice emerged from the helmet, hollow and distorted. "So you can't read my tells, duh."

The Boss's lieutenants regarded their employer with a distinct lack of comprehension.

Pierce was the only one to speak, making his reply of "what" more a statement than a question.

The Boss's helmet turned to expressionlessly regard him. "I told you. We're playing cards tonight."

Gat frowned a little. "Uh, you actually didn't."

\---

**ELSEWHERE.**

**AN ANSWERING MACHINE.**

**THE BOSS'S VOICE.**

 

Hey, come to the old Halcyon theater tonight. 11 or so. Be sure to dress nice, we--- _BEEEEEP_

\---

**THE HALCYON.**

 

The Boss shrugged, at least as much as they could with the huge brass and copper helmet atop their shoulders. "Well, that's the plan," they continued, gesturing at the three empty chairs.

Shaundi demurred. "Not unless you take that ridiculous thing off."

One could practically hear the Boss rolling their eyes under the brazen sphere. "Fine, whatever, let's get some ass-in-chair time going before I die of old age."

_One character creation sequence later..._

The Boss set the helmet down on the stage floor, brushed her teal-dyed hair back out of her eyes and fluffed her cravat. "Alright," she said, "Finally, time to play." She produced a deck and started dealing.

Pierce gave the place another look, asking "So, is there a particular reason we're doing it here and not back at HQ?"

The Boss snorted with laughter. "Wow, Pierce, Freudian much? I didn't think we'd be doing 'it' in public. I'm too much woman for you, anyway."

Shaundi shook her head in disbelief, and Pierce just rolled his eyes. "I swear, sometimes you're a literal fourteen-year-old."

The Boss shrugged. "I just like adding a bit of drama to the proceedings."

Johnny took a look at the first cards to hit his hand. "So what's the game? Stud? Draw? Pai Gow?"

The Boss dealt with precision, five cards sliding across the baize to each player. "Nah, fuck poker. Tired of it. We're playing euchre."

Shaundi looked askance, taking the seat across from the Boss. "Uh, I dunno if you noticed, boss, but we're not eighty-year-olds in a retirement home."

Pierce shrugged, taking his cards. "I'm cool with it. My great-aunt taught me when I was nine."

Shaundi groaned. "You see? Literally nobody knows how to play it except old people!"

A cough from behind the Boss interrupted, gently. The usher emerged from the wings, carrying a beverage-laden tray. "If I may, I believe I have a solution to your current impasse."

Gat raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Setting the tray down and distributing the liquor, the old man smiled. With a flick of a wrist, a card appeared between two of the finger of his free hand. A black card.

Pierce squinted at it. "Is that...?"

The Boss did as well, her grin growing wider. "I think it is," she mused.

Gat tipped his shades down. "Nope. Not getting it."

The card read DRAW FOUR / WILD.

Shaundi leaned back in her chair, appearing fairly sanguine about this development. "I once saw a dude get shivved over a game of Uno. I'm in."

The Boss glanced up at the white-haired usher. "You're a lifesaver, Ephraim. Set us up."

Gat shrugged. "Alright, whatever."

The Boss began dealing the cards once more, but her smile fell when she looked at her hand. That wily old stage magician had rigged the deck. All seven cards in her hand were yellow, and they all appeared to have words written on them in black magic marker. She squinted a bit.

THEY'VE  
GOTTEN  
BACKSTAGE -  
RONIN  
PREPARING  
FOR  
AMBUSH

The Boss laid her cards flat on the table, lifting a finger to her lips. Gat's face lit up like Times Square. "Now this is a game I can get behind..." he muttered.

Shaundi slipped her subgun into her lap. "Well, really, a night out with the Boss, you think we're gonna sit around and actually party and talk philosophy over cards?"

The Boss grinned with a coquettish shrug. "We still could." Careful to not make any noise pulling the hammers back on her twin .45 Fletchers, she rose from the table and stepped out of her heels. Whirling around, she opened fire on the first yellow-jacketed jerk to try sneaking onstage, her lieutentants following suit. "I mean, think about it for a minute. What is it we do here? What is the basic function of the Saints?"she shouted over the din.

"Imports and exports," Shaundi opined, dropping a pair of swordsmen who were creeping up from the orchestra pit.

"Vice," added Pierce, taking aim at a goon in the rafters.

"The occasional murder," Johnny stated---understated, even, as three mooks dropped at the first wave of Gat-style ultraviolence.

"Regime change?" added Pierce, deciding against aiming and raking the entire lighting rig in shot, sending hot sparks and street samurai cascading to the floor.

The Boss considered the answers as she slapped a fresh clip home. "Well, yes. But no, fuck that shit. I said to think about it, assholes. Forget the day-to-day, forget Julius' philosophy. What we do is we protect our own. What would you do if some freshly-canonized soldier in purple we'd never even met before stumbled in here and started bleeding all over our nice clean card table?"

Gat considered the line of thought for a moment. "Well, we'd probably do exactly what we're doing now. Going to war."

The Boss pressed her back up against his and kept firing. "Shit yeah, we would."

Pierce glanced over at Shaundi. "You know, she's probably still going to make us play Uno after this."

Shaundi grinned. "Doesn't bother me, as long as I can smoke a bowl first."

And ever thus is it for Saints.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: For yuletide, as usual, fretted over for too long and then finished in a rush of ideas. No actual cultural allusions to footnote here, which is a distinct anomaly in my usual output. Nevertheless, the best of the season to you, my recipient, and you, whosoever might take up this humble scrap of text and give it a read.


End file.
